


Daisies and Dinosaurs

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Daisies and Dinosaurs [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, Angst, Cute Kids, Death, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Librarians, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Parenthood, Reader-Insert, Single Father Namjoon, Single Parents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Widowed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: A tragic brain aneurysm stole the life of your best friend and no one took it harder than her husband, Namjoon. After locking himself away to mourn for two years, he walks back into your life with his precocious daughter in tow, ready to prepare her for kindergarten. As you offer to help him acclimate to his new normal, the opportunity to grow closer than friends kindles healing in both of your hearts.Excerpt:He grins and diverts his gaze toward the floor to his left, murmuring something you can’t quite make out. You take a couple steps closer to the edge of the counter to see him lean down and pick up a little girl. She’s grown a lot since you’ve last seen her, but she is still every bit as adorable, donning ebony pigtail braids and a light blue sundress...Her eyes are full of wonder as they soak in her surroundings, but the moment she sees you, she tries to bury her face in her father’s neck. The sight is so endearing and sweet you feel as though you’ll melt into a puddle.“We’re here to get a library book,” Namjoon answers, before redirecting his attention to the girl in his arms. “Jaeah, this is ___. She’s one of Daddy’s friends. She’s a librarian. Want to say hello to her?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader
> 
> Genre: Fluff, angst
> 
> Warning: SingleFather!Namjoon, mentions of death, excessive cuteness, risk of cavities
> 
> A/N: I had a very compelling dream about Namjoon over a year ago and it’s been marinating in my cream puff heart ever since. This is how it began.

“Full again,” you sigh to yourself, bending low and anchoring your hands on either side of the overflowing gray bin. The hulking vessel housing returned books signals yet another task to complete before you can take your lunch break, and it’s hard to look at it without a sense of dread. You suppose you should be happy the local library’s summer read-a-thon had been a success, but you wish that more books would be returned without water damage, bent corners, and lost pages.

Your hands and wrists ache from the retrieval of each and every book, and as you draw closer to the bottom of the bin, the stacks of books to be scanned back into the library’s online catalog system mount like towers on the verge of collapse. The vast majority are children’s books, the bulk of which contain short spines with labels that are difficult to decipher. Sorting them to be returned to the proper shelf will take longer than you care to give, but it’s Saturday and you’re the only children’s librarian working this shift.

The cart for the children’s section is already half-full when you start to scan in the returned books, sorting them according to their proper sub-section. After the first few minutes of the tedious activity, you let your mind drift into auto-pilot mode to drown out the incessant beeps of the scanner.

_Pick up._

_Scan._

_Identify._

_Sort._

_Pick up._

_Scan._

_Identify._

_Sort._

“Hey, stranger.”

His voice is soothing and familiar, but you don’t quite register it until you turn your back to see for yourself: a tall, trim man with dark hair, thick black glasses, and a dimple in each cheek.

“Kim Namjoon!” you exclaim, beaming with surprise as you set eyes upon an old friend. “What are you doing here?”

He grins and diverts his gaze toward the floor to his left, murmuring something you can’t quite make out. You take a couple steps closer to the edge of the counter to see him lean down and pick up a little girl. She’s grown a lot since you’ve last seen her, but she is still every bit as adorable, donning ebony pigtail braids and a light blue sundress. The dress is spotted with daisies, and after looking at her small feet, you see that her white sandals have a large daisy on the buckle to match. Her eyes are full of wonder as they soak in her surroundings, but the moment she sees you, she tries to bury her face in her father’s neck. The sight is so endearing and sweet you feel as though you’ll melt into a puddle.

“We’re here to get a library book,” Namjoon answers, before redirecting his attention to the girl in his arms. “Jaeah, this is ___. She’s one of Daddy’s friends. She’s a librarian. Want to say hello to her?”

The little girl is too bashful to remove her face from the safety of his neck, and he chuckles apologetically when she’s unable to greet you.

“Hi Jaeah,” you ease, wanting to keep from laughing at how painfully shy she is. Despite the number of times you babysat and watched her grow from a tiny infant into a toddler, she has no recollection of who you are.

Namjoon continues to smile as he tries to coax his daughter into a conversation. “I bet ___ knows where the dinosaur books are.”

Her head pops up in alertness as her mouth drops at the new piece of information. “She  _does_?” she asks her father, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Well, you have to ask her, honey bee,” he clarifies, propping her up to readjust how she’s sitting on his hip. “She’s the expert on where the books are.”

Jaeah whips her head around fast enough that one of her pigtails smacks Namjoon’s glasses. “Hi!” she greets you with a newfound burst of energy. “Do you have any books on the Triceratops?”

“Wow,” you respond, surprised by her rather specific request. Namjoon adjusts his glasses with a free hand as best he can, but he doesn’t look surprised by her quick transformation now that the conversation interests her. As you move toward the end of the counter to exit from behind the desk, you answer cheerfully, “Why yes, we sure do. Here, I’ll show you.”

You ask one of the library pages to monitor the circulation desk while you walk to the children’s section. The teenager looks perturbed she has to set aside her phone, but you know she’ll do it because you’re the only librarian under forty who lets her have a phone out in the first place. You wave a hand to motion for Namjoon and Jaeah to follow you. Unsurprisingly, the elated child begins to tap aggressively on her father’s shoulder, urging him to set her down so she can walk to the section herself. He mumbles, “alright” as he bends his legs to release her. The look on her face is nothing short of elation, and the moment her feet touch the ground you spot her two dimples, one in each cheek, just like her father has.

“The dinosaur books are right over here,” you direct with a point of your finger toward a low shelf in the back corner of the children’s section. The shelf is marked with a label that says, “Dinosaur,” with a cartoon depiction of a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Jaeah gasps with delight and hurries toward the shelf, her hands outstretched like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the excessive amount of choices. As soon as her little fingers pluck the first book from the shelf, she completely ignores the adults watching her and skips over to plop herself haphazardly into a small beanbag chair. You see that the book she pulled from the shelf is a picture book on pterodactyls, but she’s too excited by the colorful cover to notice she’s selected the wrong one.

Namjoon crosses his arms and shakes his head, amused by how entranced the little girl has become. “I wonder how long it will take her to figure out it’s the wrong dinosaur. Their attention spans, you know.”

You hum in agreement. “How old is she now?”

“Four.”

“Wow, already?” you ask with eyebrows raised. You remember the day she was born and it certainly didn’t feel like four years ago. “She’s the first preschooler to ask me for a book on a specific dinosaur.”

“Yeah, she really loves them,” he sighs, continuing to watch his daughter as she quickly flips through the book’s pages, engrossed in its contents. “I thought it was a phase, but that was eight months ago.”

You chuckle at the way Namjoon rubs his brow at that statement. It’s clear he’s had his fill of dinosaurs, but you admire the way he doesn’t intervene when Jaeah makes another selection independently, choosing a book on dinosaur eggs.

“I meant to answer you earlier,” he begins, taking a step closer to you. “About what we’re doing here, I mean. Sorry, I’m a little scattered these days. We just moved back about two weeks ago.”

“Oh! Like  _back_ back? I figured you were just visiting.”

Namjoon shakes his head and explains, “I think it would be better for her to start school here. The two years away helped to clear things in my head, but this is home. It doesn’t feel right starting her out elsewhere.”

“I think she’ll do great here. The local schools still encourage reading,” you joke, wiggling your eyebrows.

“I hope so,” he laughs, rocking back on his heels. “I wasn’t expecting her to pick up books this young. I think once she starts really reading, she’ll end up with as many books as I have.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me. You’re still a copy editor, right?”

“Yes, but I only have so much space,” he remarks, rubbing the back of his head. “Eunhee was trying to get me to get rid of some of them before she—”

Namjoon pauses, pressing his lips as a strained look falls across his features. You see him nod, like he’s reminding himself of something important, then he swallows and forces a small smile. For a moment, he stops watching Jaeah and stares at his shoes, and your heart breaks at the sight because you know why he can’t bring himself to look at her.

He misses his wife, Eunhee, who was a bubbly and cheerful biologist until she passed away suddenly two years ago. When they say that sometimes a person can be a beacon of health and still be taken from the world too soon, they are referring to people like her. She was young, healthy, and the kindest soul you knew. She was generous enough to share her apartment with you during grad school when you were broke and didn’t have anywhere to live, and she became one of your closest friends. You were inseparable until she came home one day and mentioned a “tall, intelligent” English major she met at the library, and you were thrilled. You were convinced that if anyone was going to have a happy ending in this life, it would be her. And she truly had it all: a great job, a loving husband, a beautiful little girl—and then a brain aneurysm stole her from that life.

“Jaeah’s asking about her more now,” Namjoon continues, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I keep pictures of her up in the apartment. I want her to know more about her mother, but it’s still hard some days. Yesterday, she asked what Mommy’s favorite dinosaur was, and I couldn’t tell her because I couldn’t remember. It broke my heart.”

You take a step closer to reach out and brush his arm. “Hey, don’t be hard on yourself. Eunhee wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“She probably wouldn’t have wanted me to move away from all our friends a week after her funeral either,” he replies with a strain in his voice. “I regret that now. I’m sorry I cut contact like that. It was wrong.”

A frown falls on your face upon hearing his words. “You were upset and grieving in your own way. We all were. But you’re back and Jaeah’s all up in the science books now. Eunhee would be proud to see her daughter is as much of a nerd as she was. She used to talk to me about plant decay until two in the morning! You’re going to have your hands full.”

“Jaeah’s got me wrapped around her little finger and she knows it,” Namjoon admits, sighing. “She’s my whole world.”

Jaeah snaps the book on dinosaur eggs shut and scoots off her beanbag chair to retrieve another one. You notice that she’s made a small stack of books on the side table next to her seat, as if she’s evaluating whether each book meets a standard known only to her. Unsurprisingly, she is approving of every book she takes off the shelf.

“I think she’s making a stack of her favorites,” you comment, amused by how neatly the books are sitting, with all the corners perfectly square.

Namjoon observes his daughter’s collection with an air of concern. “Do you guys have a limit on the number of books we can check out?”

“One hundred-fifty items per account,” you recite with a smile. “Books can be checked out for up to three weeks.”

“I’m going to have to break the news to her that Daddy can’t take all the dinosaur books,” he sighs. “She gets this from me.”

“It’s sweet that she loves reading, or at least looking at the pictures.”

“I hope she doesn’t cry on me. Last weekend I took her to the museum to see the fossil exhibit and she didn’t understand why we couldn’t take a fossil home with us. Apparently, she had made a nest for the fossil to live in, out of her blankets. That was a long cry.”

“Aww,” you coo, unable to control your reaction. “That’s so precious!”

Namjoon smiles and nods as he resumes watching over Jaeah. She completes the inspection of another book, her stack of favorites growing inch by inch. Again, she returns to the shelf, but this time with more confidence as the tip of her finger presses to her lips in deep contemplation. Eunhee would be so proud of how independent her daughter already is at such a young age, with her father watching quietly from off-side as she makes each selection.

“So, how have you been doing these past two years, ___?”

The question fills your cheeks with warm embarrassment. All you’ve done since grad school is work to pay off your student loans, and that sadly required you to pick up extra shifts at neighboring libraries. Your work schedule was hardly conducive to having an active social life, much less dating anyone.

“Eh, I’ve been good,” you fib, trying to retain a pleasant expression. “I’ve just been working a lot. I cover two other libraries through the week. No one hires full-time these days, so I’m sort of all over the place.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “That’s too bad. Hey,” he pauses as he snaps his fingers, “did you ever settle down with that one guy you were with? What was his name?”

The sinking thud in your stomach makes you cringe and you try not to twist your face in response. “Junghwan. No, he cheated on me when I was away at a regional conference last year. I haven’t really dated since then. My quirkiness tends to run people off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ___,” he says. “I never really knew the guy, but I thought you were good together.”

“So did I,” you reply with a slight frown.

Jaeah scrambles from her beanbag chair with a book in hand, her tiny finger tucked between the pages. Her white sandals carry her to her father, who instinctively kneels down to better communicate at her small height.

“What is it, honey bee?” he asks in a soft tone.

She opens her book and points to one of the pictures on the page. “What’s this?”

“That’s a Spinosaurus.”

“Oh,” she replies, blinking her big brown eyes as she processes the new information. “Are they mean?”

“Does it look mean?” he prompts, pointing to the Spinosaurus’ long skull and sharp, pointed teeth.

“Yeah….” Jaeah nods her head and adds, “I don’t like this book.”

“That’s good, because we can’t take all of them with us today,” Namjoon states, then holds up his hand, fanning out his fingers. “We can only take three.”

“Three,” she repeats in understanding. “I want a book about Steve.”

“I thought you wanted a book on the Triceratops.”

Jaeah pauses a moment, then she corrects herself. “Uh—yeah!”

Namjoon laughs and then clears his throat. “Okay, we’ll get a book about the Triceratops and a book about Steve. Then one other book, okay?”

“Okay,” she accepts, the corners of her lips drooping slightly.

“Can you help out ___ and return the other books to the shelf?”

You want to interject and say it’s not necessary for her to do that, but the way her dimples poke into her cheeks as she grins and nods in your direction warms your heart like a cookie fresh from the oven. Namjoon pats her twice on the back of her daisy sundress to set her off to select the book she wants and return the extras.

As he stands and returns to you, he comments, “We’ll be out of your hair shortly.”

“Are you kidding? This is the highlight of my day,” you counter. “You’re so good with her.”

“We’re having a good day,” he clarifies, “but they aren’t always good. Moving back’s been hard on both of us. I’m not even unpacked, and school starts soon.”

Namjoon nervously rubs his neck and it’s clear to you that he’s overwhelmed with transitioning back home. You know that neither he nor Eunhee had any family in the area, and you suspect that Namjoon hasn’t reached out to any of their former friends. Not with a four-year-old in tow, anyway. He’s already apologetic about pulling you away from the circulation desk, and you can’t help but feel sorry for him with all he has on his plate.

“Do you need some help? I can come by and help you unpack,” you offer, easing into the proposition with the hopes he’ll accept the assistance. “It sounds like you could use some extra hands to get you settled.”

He appears uncomfortable as he straightens his shoulders and replies gently, “I can’t ask you to do that. I feel guilty I haven’t called or checked in with anyone in two years. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone.”

“Do you have anyone to help you unpack right now?” you press with an equally tender tone, crossing your arms because you already know the answer.

“No, but maybe I’ll find the time,” he replies, then puffs out a full breath of air that signals how stressed he feels. “I’m lying to myself, aren’t I?”

“ _Yep_.” You exaggerate the syllable to stress your point. “Look, it’s really not a bother. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to help.”

He presses his lips together as his warm eyes search your face. He looks tired and a little worn down by circumstance, but he deliberates your offer fairly by giving it the proper pause, and you appreciate that. But moreover, you want him to say yes and accept the help. He’s clearly in need of it and you hope it’s as apparent to him as it is to you.

After a few moments of silence passing between you, he concedes. “There  _are_  a lot of books. When are you free?”

Your heart lightens as you feel relief settle within your chest. “Next week, I’m off Friday and Saturday.”

“Can we shoot for Friday? Jaeah will be in daycare and I can take that day off.”

“Sure, that works for me. I can come by in the morning around nine.”

Namjoon’s face relaxes and his posture softens upon hearing your answer. “Nine works great.”

 _Good_ , you muse with a feeling of satisfaction. You turn your head to discover that Jaeah, in the course of helping you out, is running relays between the small table next to the beanbag chair and the “Dinosaur” shelf. She’s returning the books as her father instructed, but she’s returning them one at a time, as briskly as her little feet can carry her.

“Jaeah,” Namjoon calls to her, his tone lower than he used previously. She stops in her tracks and turns to face him, dropping her head low to receive her scolding. “That’s not how we return books in the library. We walk, not run. Understand?”

She looks up at you as if you’ll intercede on her behalf and save her. When she sees you turn your eyes to Namjoon, deferring to his instructions, she frowns and walks at half-speed like someone tied weights around her ankles.

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Namjoon says in a volume so low that only you can hear. “It was nice to see you again, ___.”

“It was nice to see you guys too,” you agree, outstretching your arms to offer him a hug. As he takes a step in your direction, you realize the last time you hugged him was at his wife’s funeral. You wonder whether the first embrace after two years will feel awkward. Still, he looks like he needs it, almost as much as he did then.

Namjoon opens his arms and allows you to welcome him back after so little contact. Your face meets his shoulder as his arms wrap around your back and you’re greeted by an aromatic blend of laundry detergent and children’s shampoo, no doubt remnants of Jaeah resting her head there earlier. You realize rather quickly that he needed the hug more than you first thought, as he holds it an extra moment like he’s making a memory. His fingertips spread along your back to pull you close to him, and you return the gesture by soothing his shoulder blades with an affectionate press of your palm.

“You call me if you need anything, okay?” you murmur into his shoulder. You feel him nod his head against you as he thanks you in a voice so small and wounded that you feel you might cry right there in the children’s section. Squeezing his upper body, you reassure him in the only non-verbal way you can think of at that moment. He returns the last embrace before pulling away from you and clearing his throat. His eyes are glassed over with emotive struggle, but you don’t mention a word of it because you know how hard it is to accept the life raft once it’s extended; you wore the same expression when you were at rock bottom and Eunhee gave you a helping hand.

“We’ll see you at the counter,” he says, before turning to direct his attention to Jaeah, who has five books in her lap instead of the three he recommended.

You mutter, “Sure thing,” before returning to the circulation desk and logging into the library’s system. As you wait, you pull your phone from your pocket and update your calendar to reserve next Friday to help Namjoon finish unpacking. It feels good to mark the day, as you haven’t been anywhere other than work, home, and the grocery store in a few weeks. You know it’s a little pathetic to look forward to unpacking a bunch of boxes, but you’re happy to see Namjoon and Jaeah back again. You would never say it aloud, but you’re hoping to catch more glimpses of your late friend in future visits. Their walk back into your life makes you miss how things were two years ago.

A shuffling of miniature feet scrambles toward the counter as Jaeah wraps her small arms around the books most dear to her that day. Namjoon shakes his head apologetically as he widens his stride to catch up. At the counter, he whispers something to her, prompting her to hoist the books high over her head and hand them to you.

“Thank you,” you say cheerfully, before leaning down to address her more effectively. “Jaeah, do you have your library card?”

Her face freezes in alarm upon realizing she lacks the most critical piece of the lending transaction. She whips her head around to her father so quickly that her pigtail braids get stuck under her neck. “Daddy!” she hisses, as if she doesn’t want to get busted. “I don’t have a library card!”

“I don’t have one either,” he remarks, patting his pockets playfully. “Ask ___ if we can get a new one.”

Catching Namjoon’s wink from the corner of your eye as he takes a small step backward, you agree to play along and lean closer to watch Jaeah straighten her dress as she prepares her statement. “Um, Miss ___?”

“How may I help you, sweetie?” You offer a big smile, overcome with adoration for how cute she looks as she deliberates on what to say next.

Jaeah continues in a quiet voice. “Can-Daddy-and-I-get-a-new-library-card?”

“Say please,” Namjoon advises delicately.

“ _Pleeeaaasee_ ,” she pleads with an animated face, confident she is expressing that part of the request correctly.

You burst out laughing at how desperate she’s become. “Yes, you can have a new library card.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, as if she just procured the privilege of being one of the chosen few.

Plucking a fresh library card application from underneath the circulation desk, you instruct, “Here. Give this to your dad to fill out, okay?”

She takes the paper from you and rushes to her father. “She said to fill this out!”

“I heard her, honey bee. I was standing right here,” he replies, amused by her sense of urgency. He steps toward the desk and murmurs, “Do you have a pen, Miss ___? It’s important that we keep this ball rolling, for the pursuit of knowledge and all.”

Jaeah watches intently and you swallow back the urge to laugh again. You grasp the black ink pen from atop the keyboard and pass it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, pressing the tip against the sheet to fill out his information. Your eyes drift to the page and you see the tall, tight loops of the pen trail across the surface. He completes each field, his slender fingers working with an efficiency befitting his profession. Unsurprisingly, he finishes with a broad flourish to mark his signature. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume the owner of such a signature to be a pompous ass.

“Is this your new home address?” you ask, retrieving the form and examining it.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, I forgot to give that to you earlier. I’m sorry about that. Yes, that’s the address.”

“It’s alright,” you assure, your fingers working diligently against the keys to transfer all the information into the new account. As the confirmation page prints, you fetch a new library card and scan the barcode, merging the number with the account information.

“Here’s a copy of our return policies,” you begin, stapling the library’s brochure against the confirmation page and sliding it across the counter. “I know I don’t have to say this to you, but I’m obligated by library policy to stress the importance of avoiding water damage and the subsequent replacement fees for damaged books. All that information is located on the back of the brochure.”

Namjoon begins to smirk as you continue to give the required spiel, feeling a mix of embarrassment and lunchtime hunger percolate in your belly. “All books are to be returned within three weeks or we’ll charge a late fee. Our late fees are based on the media type which can be found on the inside-front cover of the brochure or on our website. The library hours are 9:00 AM to 8:00 PM, Monday through Friday, and 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM on weekends. Do you have any questions about your account or our policies?”

“Do you have to give that speech to everyone?” he inquires, the corners of his lips perking up.

“To everyone who opens a new account, unfortunately.” You grin like someone is driving their heel into your foot and Namjoon laughs at the sight.

He leans in and whispers, “You’re doing a great job. I mean, I wouldn’t want to inflate your ego or anything, but I’m thrilled about this brochure. Just delighted.”

“This is a  _serious_  part of my job,” you force out, choking back more laughter. “If I don’t sync this card correctly, then there’s no record of these books getting checked out. Jaeah could amass her own personal library of dinosaur books and we’d be none the wiser.”

Namjoon looks down at Jaeah, who is swinging her arms back and forth like a helicopter to signal her boredom. “I’ll make sure we follow all the rules. She’ll probably tire of these before next weekend.”

“I’ll see you guys often, then,” you conclude, checking out the books they settled on: a children’s reference book on the Triceratops, a fiction book with a Stegosaurus on the cover, and a picture book on dinosaur eggs and fossils. Three beeps sound from the scanner and you place the new library card on top of the stack and slide everything across the counter to him.

“I hope we won’t be an inconvenience for you,” he says, scratching the side of his head with his fingertip.

“Not at all. I’ve missed seeing you,” you reply, returning the ink pen to the keyboard. “You guys are all set. So, I’ll see you next Friday morning?”

Namjoon tucks the library card in his pocket and takes the books in his hands. “Yes, next Friday. You don’t have to do this, though. Are you sure you want to spend your day off that way?”

“You need the hands and I want to help. I’m not backing out,” you stress with raised eyebrows.

His lips press into a thin line as a trace of guilt blooms across his face, but he doesn’t push the matter further, instead turning to Jaeah. “Time to go. Ready to say goodbye to ___?”

Jaeah blinks her eyes as she stops helicoptering her arms and returns to the present. “Byeee,” she waves with a dimpled grin on her face before taking her father’s open hand. You feel your heart swell as you wave back at her.

Namjoon tucks the books tightly under his arm. “I’ll see you,” he says in closing, wearing an expression that demonstrates nothing short of gratitude. “Thanks for the books.”

“Anytime. I’ll see you Friday.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You help Namjoon by unpacking boxes at his apartment. The task makes you reminisce on your long friendship with his late wife.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“Wanna meet Steve?”_
> 
> _The little girl grabs your attention and you’re amused that she’s so keen on introducing you to an inanimate object. Still, you suppose it’s important to her, so you pull a chair out from under the table and join her._
> 
> _“Sure. Is this Steve?” you inquire with a point to the stuffed animal sitting across from you._
> 
> _Jaeah’s spoon drops into her bowl with a plop as she brushes loose strands of hair from her face, dramatically preparing her response. “Yes, this is Steve. He’s my Stegosaurus friend.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader
> 
> Genre: Fluff, angst
> 
> Warning: SingleFather!Namjoon, mentions of death, more excessive cuteness, alcohol

Friday morning comes with bright, restorative sunshine and a light breeze. It is the sort of day that's best spent on scenic walks at the park, but you stand in front of Namjoon's modest apartment building in your athletic wear and sneakers instead, eager to begin a long day of unpacking boxes.

Your knuckles rap the front door with sharp knocks and you detect the hurried thuds of large feet approaching. The door opens and you behold the sight of your friend, sporting disheveled hair and a scattered expression. Much to your surprise, he's still wearing his pajamas.

“Hey, ___,” Namjoon greets with an exhale, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I just woke up about fifteen minutes ago and I'm not even here yet. My alarm," he winces in frustration, "decided it didn't need to go off at seven."

“That's okay,” you reply, stepping foot into the apartment. "It's not like I'm a guest or anything. Just do what you gotta do and I can wait until you're ready to get started. Is Jaeah up already?"

He laughs. “Oh yeah, she was up before me. Kneed me in the head waking me up this morning.”

Namjoon rubs his right temple and turns away to head toward the kitchen. He looks distressed, like a parent who didn't sleep the night before. It's the first time you recall ever seeing him in sleepwear, and the image amuses you a bit. Eunhee had always remarked how well put together he was, but it's clear that being a father has made keeping up that appearance more difficult.

“Sorry things are a bit of a mess around here,” he continues, opening the fridge. "Can I make you a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, that would be great," you answer, making sure to sound thankful for it. You don't tell him you already had a cup of coffee before you left your apartment that morning. You know that one is never enough anyway, plus he seems to be grasping for things to do.

He bends down and peers into the fridge, weighing his limited options. He pulls out a carton of eggs in a swift motion, then pauses. Hesitating a moment, he holds them in his hand as he deliberates whether this morning is the best morning to cook a proper breakfast. A low groan slips from his throat as he returns the carton to the top shelf of the refrigerator, instead retrieving a gallon jug of milk. You notice his sigh in defeat as he opens the cabinet containing the cereal bowls.

“Jaeah! It’s time to come eat,” he calls over his shoulder. His voice rasps on the last word and he clears his throat. He pulls out a rainbow-colored dish with a matching spoon, then proceeds to pour a bowl of sugary cereal—complete with fantasy-themed marshmallows.

His daughter emerges from the hallway with a lumpy stuffed animal in her possession. She too is still wearing her pajamas, a nightgown that reaches past her knees with a large purple butterfly on it. When she sees you, her eyes narrow in confusion as she tries to figure out why you’re in her home, but the sounds of the crunchy cereal pieces hitting the bowl distract her before she can conjure a guess.

“Hi!” she greets happily, running to the kitchen table to take her seat. She places the stuffed animal—an orange Stegosaurus with little black buttons for eyes—on the table next to her.

“Morning, Jaeah,” you greet with a small wave and a warm smile.

As Namjoon places the cereal bowl in front of her, she asks, “Daddy, what’s she doing here?”

“___’s here to help me finish unpacking all the boxes, honey bee.” He plants a kiss on top of her head. “After you eat, I want you to go brush your teeth, okay?”

Jaeah nods, whispering “okay” with a hint of disappointment, before dipping her spoon into the bowl to summon the first bite.

The coffee pot percolates behind you as it starts to create the welcoming beverage Namjoon is clearly anticipating. He stands quietly next to the counter with two cups ready and you suspect that he probably needs something a little stronger than standard coffee beans by the way he’s tapping his foot.

“Wanna meet Steve?”

The little girl grabs your attention and you’re amused that she’s so keen on introducing you to an inanimate object. Still, you suppose it’s important to her, so you pull a chair out from under the table and join her.

“Sure. Is this Steve?” you inquire with a point to the stuffed animal sitting across from you.

Jaeah’s spoon drops into her bowl with a plop as she brushes loose strands of hair from her face, dramatically preparing her response. “Yes, this is Steve. He’s my Stegosaurus friend.”

A clinking sound of glass and ceramic chime behind you. Namjoon is pouring the long-awaited coffee and the soft sigh in his voice confirms he’s finally starting to relax.

“Want to tell ___ what Steve eats?” he prompts, placing a mug of coffee in front of you. Jaeah’s tiny fingertips pluck at the plush plates on Steve’s back as she recalls the answer.

“He eats  _plants_!” she announces as if everyone should know it already.

Namjoon agrees with a nod as he takes his first sip. You can’t help but beam at her as she grins in triumph, dimples poking into her cheeks, and rewards herself with a large spoonful of marshmallows.

“Daddy,” she continues, her mouth full of cereal. “Are marshmallows plants?”

"Eh," he chuckles nervously, recalling that gelatin is made from boiled animal products. "No, honey bee. They don't come from plants."

“Oh.” Jaeah contemplates her father’s words, then her shoulders slump as her eyes glance over at Steve. It looks as though she’s figured out she can’t share her favorite cereal with her closest friend like she hoped. You wonder how many more adorable disappointments she’ll have over the weekend.

Namjoon wipes his brow and changes the subject, turning his attention to you. "Last night I moved the leftover boxes to the rooms they belong to, so it'll be easier and we won't be scrambling to see which box goes with what. I sort of packed in a hurry, so a lot of the boxes aren't labeled. I wish it was more organized. It's possible some of the boxes are in the wrong room."

"That's alright," you assure with a smile. "I'm here to help, so just let me know what you need me to do. Whatever works best for you."

A gentle smile stretches across his face and he takes another sip of coffee. "I'm really glad you're here. I'm not used to being unsettled for this long. I must have tried to unpack five times."

"Moving's really hard. I usually hire movers when I do it, but I don't have much stuff. It's just me and my cat."

"The fat, gray one you had when you lived with Eunhee? The special one?"

He begins to laugh and you can't blame him. Anyone would laugh at Cucumber. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. He's the type of cat they always show on the internet trying to climb onto furniture when there's no room. And like the cats online, he had a greater than thirty percent chance of crashing onto the ground or breaking something because he was clueless as to the laws of physics. Despite your best efforts at putting him on a diet, Cucumber remained a rotund Russian Blue who thought he could fit into a cupcake box. Even when his fat rolls draped along the floor, he was unbothered and always in search for the next snack.

"Yes, he's still fat and very special."

Namjoon grins as though he's remembering an old friend. That is, until he sees his daughter attempt to feed a spoonful of cereal—without marshmallows—to her stuffed Stegosaurus.

He quickly corrects her. "Jaeah, don't feed Steve. You're getting milk on the table."

The girl presses her lips and dips her head in embarrassment. "He was hungry."

He sighs and moves to take the bowl away from her. "Come on, we need to get your teeth brushed and get you dressed for daycare. ___ and I have to unpack all the boxes in your room today."

She bobs her head and wiggles her legs to help her climb down from her chair. Namjoon tilts his coffee mug back to polish off the remains of his meager breakfast and then follows her to the bathroom to finish the morning hygiene tasks.

After her clean teeth gain her father’s approval, she leads him by the hand to her bedroom closet, throwing open the door with a flourish of her arm. Her father shakes his head, looking on with a hope to have as much energy once the coffee kicks in. As tired as he looks, he still shows patience, pulling two sets of clothing from the closet and holding them up to give Jaeah a chance to pick her preference. It’s sweet, the way he manages to give her choices and build her independence through the little things.

As Jaeah points to the orange t-shirt and leggings set with a Tyrannosaurus rex screen-printed on the front of it, Namjoon's cell phone rings from his bedroom. His face shifts uncomfortably as he walks across the hall to answer it. You're unable to hear what's going on in the conversation, but it's brief, only lasting a couple minutes. The moment Namjoon returns to your view, you see that whoever had been on the phone delivered some unpleasant news. His lips are pursed as his hands rest on his hips. Whatever it is, he feels the need to ponder on it right away, but he doesn't have time to fully process the event before his attention is seized again.

"Daddy!" Jaeah shrieks from her bedroom. "My head is stuck!"

Namjoon heaves a sigh and jogs back to his daughter's room, preparing to console and assist her. You consider leaving the kitchen table to help him, but you don't want to intrude on whatever their morning routine is, especially since it’s the first time you’ve been there.

You place your mug next to Namjoon's in the sink and decide to fill the next few moments walking around and taking in the state of the apartment, formulating a plan of attack for the stacks of boxes you find in each room.

It’s important that Jaeah is settled since she is going to be starting school soon, so you mentally note that her living spaces should be addressed first. From the look of things, only the kitchen has been fully restored. The bedrooms, bathrooms, and living room all appear to need unpacking. It is easy to see how someone like Namjoon, a man who you knew to be very organized and precise, would struggle with the chaotic task of moving. You’re thankful to be more flexible by comparison, and you welcome the challenge of setting things up in their new home and suspect you’ll have it knocked out fairly quickly, once Namjoon frees Jaeah’s head from her shirt and takes her to daycare.

You’re peeking inside a box of housewares when Namjoon clears his throat behind you. “I’m sorry, ___. That was work on the phone.”

“Is everything okay?” you inquire, closing the box back up.

“Er, no. One of the interns lost her job last week and, in an act of revenge against the publisher, deleted several files from the office’s server before they had a chance to fully revoke her computer access.”

“Oh wow,” you interject, your eyes widening at the news. “Was your work deleted too?”

“Yep, but I keep backups on my local drive here at home, since I work here so much. Anyway, they’ve called me in so I can bring the drives and transfer what I have back onto the network so there won’t be a mass panic on Monday.” He rubs the back of his neck and grimaces in frustration. “I’m really sorry, I had every intention of having you help me so we could finally be settled here. This always happens whenever I try to plan things and then they never get done. I—”

You place your hand on his arm, hoping he’ll relax for two seconds so you can get a word in. He eases, taking a breath and softening his stance. His eyes are deep pools of conflict and remorse, but he can’t help it. He is barely functioning today, but you understand. You only wish he wouldn’t apologize so much for being a victim of circumstance.

“How about you take Jaeah to daycare, go to work, save your office, and I’ll stay here and unpack,” you suggest.

Namjoon’s face scrunches at your offer. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not fair to you.”

“Come on, Joon,” you counter with a tilt of your head. “I’m already here and it’s bedroom and bathroom stuff, books probably,” you chuckle, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own. You don’t have a ton of stuff; you just have no time.”

“But I feel guilty,” he admits with a frown.

“Why? Let’s be honest: you can kick me out if you don’t trust me to be alone with your stuff, but you need the help. I wasn’t going to do anything but watch TV anyway. This is a more productive way to spend my day off.”

He pauses and presses his lips together, adjusting his glasses as he tries to determine whether he should argue with you. But before he has the chance, you ask, “Are you always this stressed?”

“No, only when I’m unsettled and out of a routine,” he clarifies without hesitation.

“Do you trust me with your belongings?”

“Of course, I do.”

You clap your hands to settle the matter. “Great, then get out and let me help you! I got this.”

Namjoon finally caves with an exhalation, but a relieved one. He’s trying to accept help, but you know it’s hard for him when he’s so used to having his life and his job work together in harmony.

“Jaeah, time to go to daycare, honey bee,” he calls down the hall.

The little girl comes barreling out of her room with heavy footfalls. Like a whirlwind, she flies to the living room with unrestrained speed. A backpack which looks big enough to fit her inside of it jostles freely on her back. The sugar from the breakfast cereal has clearly begun working its way through her digestive system, as her face expresses nothing but joy. Wrapped tightly in her arms is Steve, whose button eyes make it look like she’s squeezing the life out of him.

“You can’t take Steve with you,” Namjoon reminds her. “Go put him back on your bed, please.”

She laughs and points at him playfully as she runs and makes a U-turn in the kitchen. “Are you going to daycare in your  _pajamas_ , Daddy?”

His eyes widen in alarm as he looks down and mutters, “Dammit,” under his breath. Jaeah’s jaw drops in feigned shock and she begins to squeal triumphantly about the bad word her father let slip. Her boisterous giggles are only interrupted by a loud thud and an exaggerated, “OOMF!” as she swan-dives onto her bed in the course of dropping off Steve.

Namjoon looks at you with a plea for assistance. “Would you mind—”

“I’ll watch her. Go change,” you laugh, waving your arm to usher him down the hall.

“Thank you.” He leaves you to hurry to his room and shuts the door. As soon as it closes, Jaeah returns from her room, still wired with energy.

“Hey,” she begins, heaving breaths coming from her lungs. “Are you going to daycare too?”

You bend down to address her more closely. “No, sweetie. I’m going to stay here and unpack boxes while you’re at daycare and your Daddy is at work.”

“Oh,” she says, showing disappointment in her voice. “Well, can you watch Steve for me? He gets scared when I’m not here.”

It takes all the resistance you have not to gush in front of her over how precious her care and devotion for the toy is. Her brow is furrowed, however, so you don’t fawn over the cuteness of the situation. She’s obviously concerned about her stuffed friend.

“Sure, I’ll take care of him while you’re gone,” you assure her with a soft pat on her back. “Do you have any tips for me if he gets scared?”

She nods right away. “If he gets scared, make a nest for him out of blankets, but only with  _my_  blankets,” she stresses with a point of her finger. “Daddy says we can’t use the other blankets.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that. Only yours. Got it.”

“Ready to go?” Namjoon interrupts, buttoning up the last button of his pressed cornflower shirt. You stand to your feet and offer him a sincere smile. He returns the gesture, flashing his dimples and adjusting his glasses higher on his nose.

“Do you feel a little better?” you ask in a low tone, taking in how refreshed he looks. He’s always been handsome, but he’s distractingly attractive when he’s dressed for work and you notice little else. You want to compliment him and tell him so, but with his daughter standing there, you aren’t sure whether it’s appropriate and you don’t want to startle him by praising his appearance on a rough morning.

“A lot better, thank you,” he answers, escorting his daughter towards the door with a soft nudge of his hand. “Call me if you run into any issues, okay? There’s an extra key on the hook over there,” he points to the far wall in the kitchen, “so don’t feel like you have to stick around if you don’t want to. I know it’s a lot.”

“It’s  _fine_ ,” you tease him. “Go on, I’ll get started and we’ll see how it goes. No worries!”

Namjoon shakes his head in affirmation and opens the front door, letting Jaeah out first. As he turns around to close the door, he mouths “thank you” one more time, taking a moment to pause and express sincerity with his eyes. You reply with a pleasant expression and lock the deadbolt of the door behind him.

You take in the silence of the apartment with a deep breath as you consider which room to address first. There aren't piles upon piles of boxes, so you don't feel pressured or overwhelmed by the task at hand. After spending your morning coffee with them, however, you do understand that having a young child around can make the small tasks seem much larger than they are.

 _Jaeah's room first_ , you confirm with a nod, pulling out your phone and setting your music app to play a relaxing melody. You had arranged the playlist in the hopes of easing some of Namjoon's apprehension, but perhaps being called into work was the best thing for him.

As the tunes fill your ears, you walk into Jaeah's room and open the first box: books, all books. The bookshelf across from her bed has a few loose books which you recognize from the library, but there’s no sense of organization. You imagine she’s been leafing through the pages as briskly as she did when you saw her at the library. As you remove the books from the box and lay them across her bed, an idea begins to take shape. Jaeah doesn’t know how to read, or at least not well enough to sort her own books by title, but at four years old, she can sort according to color.

Smiling at your cleverness, you begin to separate the books on the bed based on the colors of their spines. Pinks and reds first, then oranges, and onward through the rest of the colors of the rainbow until you feel satisfied you’ve covered the full spectrum. You hope Namjoon won’t wince at how disorganized the titles and subjects themselves are. Little girls love bright colors, or at least all the girls you’ve had the pleasure of meeting through your career.

As you arrange the books on the shelf, your librarian habits kick in as you tug on the spines until they are all flush with the shelf’s edge. In total, there must be about fifty books. Most of them are very thin and full of pictures, but you can’t help but chuckle over it because you remember Eunhee’s old shelf of science books—large volumes on biology that were so heavy her cheap, plywood shelf bowed under the weight. She would be proud to see how much reading is encouraged in the home.

With the first box down, the task of unpacking the rest of the boxes in her room is far less daunting. Most of the items inside are toys and off-season clothes, nothing too intensive or demanding given the furniture is already in its proper place. You open the drawers and follow suit with the set-up Namjoon already has in place, minus returning the seasonal clothes in a smaller box and placing it on the highest shelf in Jaeah’s closet.

By the time Jaeah’s room is complete, you’re humming along to the music as it fills the apartment. You make her bed, taking a few moments to fashion a nest out of one of her extra blankets. Steve watches your paltry attempts, and you chuckle at how judgmental his button eyes look. Hopefully, Jaeah will forgive you for not knowing how to fold a proper blanket-nest. You place the plush creature inside of it and tuck in a small book on reptiles to keep him company, because why not? It’s adorable and you lack impulse control when it comes to cuteness.

Closing Jaeah’s bedroom door to check it off in your mind, you turn your attention to the hallway bathroom. When you flick on the light, you see a solitary neon pink princess toothbrush poking out from its holder. This is her bathroom, yet the only sign she’s been using it is the small pop of color. Everything else in the room is suburban beige and indicative of being a rental. The shower curtain is a similar shade of sandstone and more Namjoon’s style. It’s boring, but you suppose the move back hasn’t afforded any time to consider making the bathroom more fun.

 _I should just pop over to the corner store and get a princess curtain_ , you muse as you open the only box in the room.

Inside are several bottles of children’s shampoo and body soap. It appears that Namjoon is either a coupon-clipper or got a good deal, but in any case, there are far too many bottles to place under the sink. You elect to relocate the contents to the hall closet, arranging the bottles according to the corresponding body part. The items for the head reside on the left end of the shelf, while those for the body reside on the right. There are enough toiletries to put Jaeah through elementary school, but at least they are organized.

As you wrap up stacking the extra refills in the closet, you return to the bathroom to give it one last look to confirm you had unpacked everything. The room feels stale, but it’s complete. Pursing your lips and checking your watch, you deliberate over the need for a rug in front of the shower. Namjoon probably lays a towel down, but it’s not ideal for a permanent living space. There are still plenty of hours left in the day, so you make the decision to get a rug to match a new curtain. The room is visibly bland and reminds you of your straight-laced parents, which just gives you more justification to help Namjoon redecorate.

Not wanting to overstep your involvement, you return to your phone and open up your messages.

 **[10:13 AM] You:**  Hey, would it be overstepping if I went out and got a couple things for Jaeah’s bathroom?

 _It’s probably rude to stress how bland it is in there_ , you figure.

 **[10:15 AM] Namjoon:**  You mean like toothpaste? There should be extra refills in the box in the bathroom. Unless it was the wrong box…

 **[10:16 AM] You:**  I found those and put them in the closet. It’s just that it’s a girl’s bathroom, and it’s boring. I haven’t found any children’s shower curtain, rug, etc. Are they in another box maybe?

 **[10:18 AM] Namjoon:**  Ahhh…yeah. She had those but they were getting gross when it came time to move, so I tossed them. Haven’t replaced them yet. The beige one in there is a spare one.

 **[10:21 AM] You:**  I’m making pretty good time with the boxes. I can run to the store and pick up some things to help out, if you want. I don’t mind, but I wanted to ask first.

 **[10:22 AM] Namjoon:**  I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll feel bad. I can order something online.

You heave a sigh as his guilt over being a busy parent resurfaces.

 **[10:23 AM] You:**  Or you can just say yes lol! You can pay me back if you feel that guilty about it, but it’s really not a problem. I think it will help you get settled faster.

 **[10:24 AM] Namjoon:**  Jaeah did stick her tongue out and ask where the Rapunzel curtain was.

 **[10:24 AM] You:**  See? She knows the beige one has GOT. TO. GO.

 **[10:26 AM] Namjoon:**  Hahaha, alright fine. But can you check the boys’ section and look for a dinosaur one first? I know her toothbrush is a princess one but I think she’s moving out of that phase into a full nerd.

 **[10:27 AM] You:**  Sure thing. If I don’t find any dinosaur ones, I’ll improvise and get something else.

 **[10:28 AM] Namjoon:**  Thanks. It means a lot you’re doing so much. I feel bad I’m not there. When I got here, the one problem became three. Now my goal is to get out of here before dinner because of daycare hours.

 **[10:30 AM] You:**  I hope you’re getting overtime pay.

 **[10:31 AM] Namjoon:**  Oh, I am. I don’t clean up after others for scraps anymore when I could freelance instead. :-D

You laugh at the message. Since when does Namjoon ever use an emoji?

 **[10:32 AM] You:**  Nice. Well, don’t worry about things here. I have it under control so whenever you come home is fine. I finished Jaeah’s bedroom already.

 **[10:32 AM] Namjoon:**  Ah, thank you. She’ll be happy to see it.

 **[10:33 AM] You:**  Happy to do it. I gotta get back to the boxes, but take it easy!

 **[10:34 AM] Namjoon:**  You too.

Venturing back down the hall, you turn into Namjoon’s office to find three large boxes which have already been opened. As you peek inside, you discover that they’re the temporary home for his vast book collection. The librarian in you wants to sort everything according to the sanctioned national library classification system, but you don’t want to rail against his personal choices when it comes to his books. You remember Eunhee griping about how much comfort and pride he took in them, but that was probably because she resented having to update her expensive references with each new breakthrough in her field. She could seldom keep a book longer than a year or two.

The first box has a small pack of post-its, so you take one and tape it to the top of the box. You scribble a small message: “I’m sure you’d prefer to unpack these yourself. :-)” The rest of the office is pretty clean, but only because it’s fairly empty, save for a few stacks of Namjoon’s clothes that you leave untouched for his privacy.  _I should skip his bedroom too_ , you decide, not wanting to poke around another adult’s private belongings.

Returning to the living room, you see the largest number of boxes gathered in one place. You hope that the majority of them are blankets and pillows, or at least home decorations that will be relatively easy to locate a home for. Starting with the smallest boxes, you encounter a collection of picture frames with old family photos.

The first is a couple’s photo of Namjoon and Eunhee kissing the cake off each other’s faces on their wedding day. It’s tastefully shot and they’re beautiful together, basking in the happiness of finally being man and wife. You recall the day well, as you were the maid of honor and spent that whole morning reassuring the bride that the cake–a buttercream megalith she spent way too much on–had arrived safely. She stressed over the smallest things on that day, but you can’t see it in the pictures. You only see two people deeply in love, and it’s bittersweet now. A lump pricks your throat upon realizing that your closest friend who you supported through all those months of planning won’t be able to return the favor like she promised.

The next is another photo you recall, as it was one you took for them: a shot of proud future parents. Eunhee was eight months pregnant and you remember that she was craving the weirdest food combinations back then. She complained a lot about the little one growing inside of her as she waddled to the bathroom twice as often as she wanted, her whines peppered with scientific facts about gestation in mammals that went well over your head. Poor Namjoon got the brunt of it, but he was so excited to be a father and it shows in the photograph. He’s beaming with pride as his hand rests over hers atop her swollen belly. They were adorable together, so much that the happiness in the picture makes you feel the sting of loss even more, especially for Namjoon.

Beneath the frame is a small picture of her ultrasound. There’s an “It’s a girl!” scrawled in the corner in Eunhee’s handwriting and you feel the first hot tear slide over your left cheek. No one would have guessed she would be dead two years later.

You wipe your face and begin to place the picture frames along the shelves of the living room. It’s important that your friend be remembered for the warm light she was. Her daughter deserves to know how much of her own nerdiness came from her mother. As you add more and more pictures to the shelf, you cycle through Namjoon and Eunhee’s other life events: buying their first place together, Jaeah’s first birthday, Eunhee’s first major publication. Each placement of their family memories stabs your heart, but you fully understand why Namjoon has been struggling with the task of unpacking for so long.

The last frame in the box is a picture of you and Eunhee, both sleep-deprived with disheveled hair and your college hoodies on. You don’t know which year the photo is from, but your tired expressions hint the picture was taken during exam week. That’s the only explanation for what’s clearly a lack of eye makeup. Your heads are tilted toward each other and in the background of the photo, you spot a soothing memory: a slow cooker filled with “exam stew,” the hodgepodge concoction invented one night when you were both drunk and she was feeling creative.

A smile stretches across your face. Exam stew was cheap, to be sure, but it was as close to a home-cooked meal as either of you were capable of making that first year of living together. Over time, the recipe evolved into something worthy of keeping a secret. It became the meal you made together when either of you were sick, sad, or celebrating—and it is a taste you miss now more than ever. With Namjoon’s afternoon plans in disarray from work, you figure he won’t mind if you cook a warm meal for him and Jaeah. Perhaps paired with a clean house, he can be in peace for an evening.

* * *

 

A sigh of satisfaction brushes across your lips as you marvel at your handiwork. The store was only a few miles from Namjoon's apartment, giving you ample time to select everything you need to upgrade Jaeah’s bathroom. Upon inspection of the bathroom sets meant for children, you were able to find a set with depictions of dinosaurs on them. It was as if the universe wanted you to have it, so you feel no reservations for splurging just a little extra.

The shower curtain shows a pre-historic, yet cartoonish, landscape. The herbivores and carnivores look to be sharing the same living space on the open plain, and although memories of your old science classes gently remind you that their interactions wouldn't have been so peaceful, you know Jaeah will be pleased. The bath rug is well-cushioned and a muddy shade of red, to match some of the rocks in the picture. The curtain and rug are all you need to complete the bathroom; however, you couldn't walk away from the last toothbrush holder on the shelf—a container with a Pterodactyl wrapping its wings around the holes meant to hold the brushes. It took a lot of effort to resist the urge to replace the toothbrush but now, as you review Jaeah's completed bathroom, you beam with amusement as the formidable reptile appears to be guarding the bright pick princess toothbrush with a threatening stare.

Although it feels a little silly to set up a girl's bathroom in a dinosaur theme, the room feels more inviting and moved in. It looks settled and ready for use, and that's enough to make you feel proud of the time and work you've invested.

As you brush your hands to signal another room completed, you return to the kitchen to look for a pair of shears. Perhaps it's the fact that you lack impulse control when you're excited, or maybe it's that you wanted to do something nice for them. You're a sentimental person, so after a day of unpacking and looking at pictures, reliving memories, you decided to buy a bouquet of fresh daisies to present with dinner.

Hopefully, Namjoon won't be upset and consider it overstepping, but you don't dwell on the thought long because the flowers' stems have to be cut and arranged in their new, bright blue vase. You locate the shears in the far-left drawer and proceed with snipping off the stems at an angle. After filling the vase with a sufficient amount of water, you place each daisy inside with care, taking note to place the tiny bag of plant food next to the glass vessel to remind Namjoon that he can extend the life of the flowers if he wishes.

The white daisies rest in the center of the dinner table ready to greet Namjoon and Jaeah when they return home. The full bouquet brings a softness into the room that makes you feel lighthearted and nostalgic. You suppose you would decorate your own apartment this way if you shared it with someone other than Cucumber. He would only knock over the vase in protest if you didn't mix his wet and dry food properly, the spoiled thing.

As you open the refrigerator to retrieve the ingredients for exam stew, your thoughts drift back to your memories of Eunhee, your late nights in the kitchen huddled over the slow cooker.

* * *

 

_Years earlier._

"We're never drinking tequila again."

"Look—don't say tequila," you urged with the point of your finger. You were well past inebriated, and Eunhee's judgmental look wasn't helping matters. "I just need some water and I'll be fine."

" _You_  need food.  _I_  need food. So, food is happening."

Eunhee's repeating of the word “food” confirmed she was still feeling the effects of the party you both ducked out of. After a couple hours, it was clear that neither of you would be able to keep up with what could only be described as "grad school depression-level drinking." Eunhee's department was facing endowment cuts, and everyone in your library program—well, how far were tax dollars going to stretch? Everyone at the party had been living on cheap ramen and lying to themselves that everything would be great after graduation. Writing grant proposals and begging for money for the foreseeable future would be great just like those tequila shots, or at least that’s what you told yourself when you tossed them back.

Your stomach churned and you started to whine. "There's nothing here, we should just get a pizza or something."

"It's 1 AM. The only place that's open is that seedy heroin dump off 8th street," Eunhee reminded you with a twist of her nose.

"Ugh, their pizza sucks ass!" you proclaimed, gripping onto the edges of the kitchen table to keep yourself upright.

Your roommate opened the refrigerator and her face became distorted. "Who left—what is  _that_?" She pulled out a mysterious chunk covered with brown paper and you started snapping your fingers frantically.

"It's—ah, fuck! It's meat! Yeah!"

She tilted her head and questioned further. "But how long has it been here? Is it beef? Pork? Human?"

Your mouth fell open as you tried to recall the mystery meat’s origin. "It was on sale?" After the words come out, you don't feel very confident about the contents. "Maybe it's still good?"

Eunhee narrowed her eyes. "Are there going to be maggots when I open this? It doesn't—hang on," she paused to smell the packaging. "It doesn't smell like ass, but is-it-going-to-be-ass-when-I-pull-back-the-curtain?!"

"What the fuck?!" you roared with laughter. "Just open it!"

She peeled the paper off as she held her breath, building the tension in the room. “Oh, it’s still good. Hey!” she exclaimed with wide eyes, pointing to the top of the fridge. “We should put this in that slow cooker thingy!”

The alcohol had definitely not worn off of your roommate, since the first idea she had for the meat was to cook it in a machine she’d never used. “Psh, have you even taken it out of the box?” you laughed. “That was the most impulsive thing you’ve ever bought. It’s a dust collector.”

“Look, do you want to eat, or do you want to eat?” she asked, hopping on her feet to grab the large box off from the top of the fridge. “I’ll just add other stuff. It’ll be  _fiiine_.”

You raised your eyebrows in skepticism. She carried the box over and pulled out the slow cooker, looking apprehensive about the instructions. Snatching the booklet away from her, you waved your hand. “Alright, let me read these so we don’t burn down the place, and you figure out how to make it not taste like a foot.”

“We’re so drunk, ___,” she stated like the revelation had just dawned on her. “Why did we even go to that party?”

“Because what’s-his-face was there,” you reminded her, eyes fixed on the booklet. “Namhyun? Nam—”

“Namjoon,” she corrected, the corners of her mouth perking up before she quickly turned away to hide her face.

“Yeaahhhh,” you exaggerated with a grin. “Namjoon.”

“Don’t start.”

You shrugged your shoulders in amusement. “I’m not starting anything. Just wondering why you’re here and not getting laid. Weren’t you griping about a dry spell?”

Eunhee shook her head as she grabbed an onion out of the basket on the countertop and began slicing it. “He’s not like that.”

“I’m not following. He’s got a dick, girl. And he has those professor vibes and I know you, okay. You’re hot for those turtlenecks.”

She whipped her head around and fired back. “AM NOT!”

“WHY ELSE ARE YOU TAILING AN ENGLISH MAJOR, EUNHEE?!”

Your roommate shrieked as she buried her burning face in her hands. You clutched your belly and howled in laughter at her embarrassment.

“He’s really sweet, ___,” she whined with a muffled voice, still too flustered to communicate fully. “I really like him. He’s so charming and smart and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m going to a conference with him next month. A conference!”

Your jaw dropped in exaggerated shock. “A biology one or an English one?”

The squeal from behind her lips as she turned around to add more ingredients confirmed that she was going to one of his conferences. You were tickled over it, as Eunhee was hardly the type to be a super social person. She lived in her research and always focused on that. She dreaded the forced exchanges that took place at conferences, yet here she was, falling over herself to see him more often.

“This is just adorable,” you commented, getting up from your chair to join her at the slow cooker. “I hope when you nerds get married, I get an invite.”

* * *

 

You catch yourself smiling as you remember helping her make the first version of exam stew. Over the next year, you would make it with her several more times, and the tasks of chopping, slicing, and stirring always lent themselves to conversations, some of the best, in fact. Eunhee confessed that she was in love with Namjoon over a bowl. It was the only home-cooked addition at their engagement party months later.

Years after that, you modified it when she said she was coming to visit but feeling sick, and it was only after the fresh bowl of warm food was in front of her that she burst into tears and revealed she was pregnant. She was a complete mess, but you loved her and let her cry it out. She was your best friend and after all the years of sisterhood, it was only fitting that you made it the day of her funeral, in the same slow cooker, as your way of saying goodbye to her.

A deep, solemn feeling washes over your chest as you wonder if that was the last time the slow cooker had been used. You stir at the pot and sniffle, feeling a little pathetic for still being sad years after her death. You can only imagine how Namjoon must feel, with life dealing him such a bad hand so early in their marriage.

One by one, all of the ingredients are added into the pot and given a final turn with the spoon. The kitchen looks untouched otherwise, save for the fresh bouquet of daisies on the table. After being so overcome with emotion for your late friend, you begin to feel out of place. Was dinner too much? Did you make a mistake with all the extras? Will Namjoon be upset?

 _Maybe I should leave this here and go_ , you ponder, pressing your fingers to your cheeks. They feel swollen and puffy and you don’t want to make things awkward. Namjoon could be home with Jaeah at any minute and find you crying in the kitchen over his late wife. Sure, it would be an accident, but you don’t want to make matters worse for him when he’s already had a bad morning and, you suspect, a bad afternoon as well.

You turn the slow cooker to the lowest setting and tear off a sheet of paper from a notepad stuck to his refrigerator. Scrawling a short note, you provide an explanation for the meal you were never asked to make in the first place:

> _Namjoon,_
> 
> _I hope you don’t mind that I made dinner for you guys. I was feeling sentimental and this was a favorite that Eunhee and I used to make together. It’s a lot of food for two, but it freezes well. Hope you take it easy and let me know if you guys need anything else._
> 
> _Wishing you all the best, ____


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the long day at his office, Namjoon arrives at his apartment to discover all the ways his friend made it feel like a home again. 
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _Namjoon takes in the sight of the kitchen and sees the slow cooker has been set to low. He walks toward the machine and opens the lid, letting the warm steam from inside the pot billow against his face. He wonders if ___ knew exam stew was his favorite. Perhaps Eunhee joked about it when they used to visit together._
> 
> _On the surface, the food choice is simple and would mean nothing to most people, but the comforting aroma makes Namjoon’s throat scratchy as he struggles to process how meaningful the gesture is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader, Namjoon x Eunhee (his late wife)
> 
> Genre: Angst, light fluff
> 
> Warnings: SingleFather!Namjoon, mentions of death, marriage, cuteness
> 
> A/N: This chapter is from Namjoon’s POV. This is a short chapter, as the longer version in my head didn’t feel very natural to me during the editing process. Hope you enjoy!

**[Namjoon POV]**

Namjoon opens the door to his apartment and the first thing he notices is the smell—a savory aroma he hasn’t had the privilege of enjoying in years.

_Exam stew._

After a long day of stress whittling down his resolve and calm demeanor, his stomach lurches with an erratic longing because he can hardly believe it. The home-cooked meal which used to be his favorite has come back from the dead, in a way, at the hands of ___, the only living person who knew how to cook it.

Jaeah skips with jubilation into the living room as he shuts the door behind them. His eyes wander over the furniture as he expects to be greeted by his friend, but finds the apartment vacant.

“Where’s Miss ___?” his daughter asks, interlacing her small fingers across the front of her orange t-shirt. The Tyrannosaurus rex screen-printed there looks like it’s being silenced.

“I don’t know, honey bee,” her father says, though he wishes he knew the answer too. “We just got here.”

Namjoon takes in the sight of the kitchen and sees the slow cooker has been set to low. He walks toward the machine and opens the lid, letting the warm steam from inside the pot billow against his face. He wonders if ___ knew exam stew was his favorite. Perhaps Eunhee joked about it when they used to visit together.

On the surface, the food choice is simple and would mean nothing to most people, but the comforting aroma makes Namjoon’s throat scratchy as he struggles to process how meaningful the gesture is.

No one has cooked him dinner in two years.

The realization of that fact overwhelms his mind with questions and he puts the lid back onto the pot. He glances at the kitchen table to find Jaeah staring at a blue vase full of daisies—another addition, courtesy of ___.

“Daddy, there’s a note!” she informs him, pointing to a piece of paper. She’s excited to see the home in a different, more unpacked state than it was in earlier in the day, but Namjoon is overwhelmed by the change in atmosphere. Still, he tries to maintain a jovial air about him for the sake of her happiness.

“Oh? Let’s see what it says,” he begins, adjusting his glasses higher on his nose.

> _“Namjoon,_
> 
> _I hope you don_ _’t mind that I made dinner for you guys. I was feeling sentimental and this was a favorite that Eunhee and I used to make together. It’s a lot of food for two, but it freezes well. Hope you take it easy and let me know if you guys need anything else._
> 
> _Wishing you all the best, ____

“That was nice of her, wasn’t it,” he concludes. “She even left us a bag of plant food for the daisies.”

“Oo! Can I feed them?” she pleads, hopping excitedly on her small feet.

_She_ _’ll learn patience eventually_ , Namjoon reminds himself. _Or she’ll be just like her mother._

“We have to wait until the daisies need food. They don’t need it right now.”

The corners of his daughter’s lips droop. “When will they be hungry?”

He releases a long sigh, wiping his forehead. “I’m not sure. We can read the instructions after dinner and then we’ll know when to feed them.”

Jaeah perks up after hearing the alternative, then turns on her heels and heads toward her bedroom. As Namjoon props the letter up next to the vase, he wishes ___ was there to see how excited his little girl is over the daisies. She would have enjoyed that.

As Namjoon considers sending a text of thanks, he hears a shriek and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, putting him on high alert. A concern for his daughter’s safety floods his mind, and he takes long strides in her direction, apprehensive to hear it again.

“Oh my god, STEVE!” Jaeah squeals. “Dad! _DADDYYY!!_ ”

Namjoon winces as the high-pitched sound claws the inside of his ears. He enters the bedroom and sees what his daughter is screeching about: her favorite stuffed stegosaurus is tucked cozily inside a nest made of blankets. There’s a picture book on reptiles next to it. It looks as though Steve just settled in for an afternoon of light reading after a long day.

“He’s reading!” she announces, clapping like it’s a major breakthrough in the dinosaur’s education.

Namjoon chuckles at the thought of ___ tucking a book in with a stuffed animal. _She went full-librarian_ , he ponders with amusement, looking at the shelf where the rest of Jaeah’s books are stored. His eyes take in his friend’s handiwork, seeing the creative display of books, arranged according to color.

“Did you see your bookshelf?” he instigates, pointing to the shelf across the room.

Jaeah whips around to find her books aligned in a rainbow formation. “Wow!” she exclaims, feasting on the sight as if all the books are brand new and ready to be read the first time.

It pleases Namjoon to see his daughter so excited, so he piles on.

“___ told me she changed your bathroom too. Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah—” she answers quickly, dashing past him to scurry down the hall.

Namjoon follows after her, but hears the outburst of delight again before he makes it to the bathroom.

“Daddy!”

He finds his daughter jumping like it’s the holidays, pointing at the new shower curtain covered with animated dinosaurs. Her face is red and puffy, like she’s been holding her breath because the excitement overwhelmed her beyond the physical limits of a four-year-old.

“Dinosaurs!” she puffs with heaving breaths, throwing her arms up like she’s surrendering to the power of the shower curtain. As she bends her legs to brace her palms against her knees, she adds, “The rug looks like dirt! It’s a dirt-rug.”

Namjoon laughs at his daughter’s blunt remark, shaking his head. ___ didn’t leave a stone unturned, choosing to update all the items she could to match the theme. He shares in the excitement when he sees the pterodactyl toothbrush holder cradling the pink princess toothbrush along the back of the sink.

“Look, your princess toothbrush is getting carried away by the pterodactyl,” he says, moving the display closer to her eye level.

“No, they’re _friends_ ,” she corrects him, speaking like the authority on princess-dinosaur diplomatic relations. “The princess rules over the dinosaur kingdom and the pterodactyl is her friend and flies her places.”

“Ah, I see now,” he plays along, putting the toothbrush back by the sink. He turns back to her and redirects the conversation. “You need to unpack your bag and get washed up. We’re going to have dinner soon.”

Jaeah nods in understanding, then leaves the bathroom. Namjoon gives the room another inspection, smiling contently as he turns the light off.

When he returns to the living room, he notices the once-empty bookshelves are now lined with picture frames. Each one contains a cherished memory of the life he had with Eunhee. After weeks of being unable to unpack that particular box, for fear the photos would upset him, he now realizes how much warmer his home feels with them on display. Jaeah can see her mother when she heads to school or look at her picture during television commercials, and the thought traps a prickly lump in the back of Namjoon’s throat.

He takes in the aroma of the stew brewing in the slow cooker again and admires the daisies resting on the kitchen table. It has been so long since a woman’s touch has been in the home, Namjoon can barely process the overwhelming ache in his chest. Each room ___ has touched is now brighter, warmer, and at last offers some semblance of comfort—like a real home.

“Hey Daddy,” Jaeah calls from her bedroom, assuming her father is on standby to listen to her at all times, “can Steve join us for dinner?”

Namjoon swallows hard as his eyes brim with tears. “Daddy needs a minute,” he informs with a rasp he struggles to keep hidden.

Walking into his bedroom, he hopes to recover and ward off the sadness which has been rekindled in his heart. He doesn’t want his daughter to see him falter. She doesn’t understand the loss, and Namjoon hopes she never will.

His yearning for recovery is dashed when his eyes take in the sight of his bed. It appears freshly made, the covers tucked tightly with few wrinkles to speak of. It doesn’t look slept in. His eyes fall to the side of the mattress closest to the doorway—the side which used to be Eunhee’s—and he hovers his hand over it, unable to touch the fabric. If she were still alive, the bed would have been unkempt, disheveled by the restless kicking she used to do in her sleep. Namjoon hasn’t thought about his wife’s poor sleeping habits in months, but the sudden recollection of them makes his chest feel as though it’s caving in.

He tries to soften his landing onto the bedroom floor, but his body plops like a bag of cement as his vision blurs with hot tears. He takes his glasses off and sets them on the bed before gripping the blankets and burying his face in them. Namjoon’s throat cracks as he begins to sob. He presses his nose and mouth against the bed hoping to muffle the agonizing moment and keep his daughter from seeing him break down this way.

He feels weak— _powerless_. Just when he fools himself into thinking he’s on the mend and moving on from Eunhee’s passing, a small gesture like unpacked boxes reignites his grief and he experiences the cruel reality once more: he is alone. He was left behind. The agony of it crumbles his heart and head, subduing him like a suffocating ocean wave.

He misses her, yet he can barely remember what her voice sounds like anymore. He laments the fact he didn’t record Eunhee more often, especially now as he cries into the bed sheets he used to share with her. Namjoon would give just about anything to hear words of comfort from her now, but all he has are memories.

* * *

 

_Two years earlier._

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Eunhee asks, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Did Jaeah fling food in my hair again?"

"No," Namjoon chuckles. "Sometimes I just like looking at my wife. What’s wrong with that?"

Her lips turn up at the confession. "You're awfully sentimental after sex."

Namjoon returns the smile, draping his arm over his wife's bare stomach, pulling her close. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and nibbles playfully. Her giggles fill the room, adding to the soothing afterglow of their "morning break" they desperately scheduled while Jaeah was at daycare.

Eunhee's laughter continues as she tries to push Namjoon away from her. With each shove, he anchors himself to her waist so she can't get away.

"You're so clingy!" she shouts, scrambling to employ new methods of escape.

"Let me love you!"

"You had enough already," she declares, doubling over. "You. Had. Enough!"

After a few more moments of pushing and giggles, Namjoon eases off to let his wife catch her breath. She readjusts the pillow beneath her head and closes her eyes with a long, pleasant sigh.

“You act like you’re going to cut me off at the trough,” he jokes, stroking her arm with his thumb. “You and I have a lifetime of clinginess. You can’t tap out like this.”

“Hmm,” Eunhee hums in agreement, softening and scooting in closer, nestling her nose against his chest. “I’m glad we had this morning together.”

“Me too.”

Namjoon holds his wife close and rubs her back. She’s warm to the touch, breathing softly and remaining as still as possible, like she doesn’t want the day to progress.

“Joon?”

“Hm?”

“If something ever happened to me, you’d find someone else, right?”

Her voice is small, but her words are enough to persuade Namjoon to loosen his hold on her. He looks at Eunhee’s face and she turns away, blushing. He suspects this is one of those “bigger questions” married couples talk about after sex when they feel the most liberated and close to one another.

“Where’s this coming from?” he inquires. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” she says. “It’s just that I didn’t think I’d ever be this happy. It’s hard when you don’t have a family that you’re close to, you know? I see you with Jaeah and I realize I’ve made it. I really lucked out. But life’s temporary. We live, we die, and life goes on.”

_Ever the scientist_ , he thinks, nodding his head.

“I, yeah—now that Jaeah’s about to turn two, I think about the future and what her life will be like. I may not always be there. You may not be there either.”

“Honey, we’ll _both_ be there for her, okay? And for each other. You can’t think like that,” Namjoon states, trying to reassure her. He’s not used to seeing his wife so vulnerable. It must have been something weighing on her mind, so he stays in the bed and holds her hand, continuing to listen.

“I just love you so much,” she says, her voice cracking. She clears her throat as she tries to steady her tone. “I want you to promise me you’ll take care of yourself and our little girl.”

Eunhee’s eyes implore him to make the promise, to say what she needs to hear in that moment.

“I promise,” he responds, kissing her hands, “but let’s be honest: I’ll be the first to go. I’m the one who broke my toe on the coffee table. Twice.”

“I’m being serious!” she exclaims, laughing through her watery eyes.

“Me too! It’s cursed, honey. If you want me to make it to Jaeah’s graduation, we should probably burn it.”

“If you’d been wearing those house slippers I bought for your birthday, you would’ve been protected,” she quips, raising her eyebrows in a playful manner.

Namjoon knew she’d bring that up eventually. He didn’t particularly like the color, or the feel of them, but seeing his wife’s mixed feelings on mortality convinces him to wear the shoes from now on. It would make her feel happy and secure. As he lies in their marriage bed, holding her close to him, it’s what he wants the most.

* * *

 

As Namjoon rests his tear-stained face along the cold bed sheets, he wonders if Eunhee had some inclination she would die before him, a woman’s intuition sort of thing. She never believed in things like fate, but the cruel irony was that she died six weeks after that morning together. It came out of nowhere and no one was prepared for it. No one prepares for death when they’re healthy and so young.

She had been right though, about everything. She lived and died—and life continued. Jaeah was growing into her more and more each day, and he wishes more than anything that he could talk to Eunhee again and ask for help on how to handle this or that. She had been more prepared for parenting, for everything really. Namjoon did well enough to keep Jaeah alive, or at least that’s how he felt most days as a single parent. Bringing her back to enroll in the schools he and Eunhee originally wanted was the first decision he had been sure about in months.

To think he would be alone for the next thirteen years of schooling was too much to process.

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. It is hard for him to admit that, with the photographs of his late wife out on display in the living room. There is no replacing Eunhee, but a part of him misses having a woman’s touch around to fill the space with something worthwhile.

He doesn’t want Jaeah to be alone without a mother either. The early years are one thing, but he knows there will eventually come a time when she’ll need a woman to guide her through certain life experiences. He wants to give her the life that Eunhee wanted her to have, but he doesn’t know how he’ll manage to do that. Kids don’t come with instruction manuals.

He hadn’t really felt that much was missing until ___ reminded him what a home could look and feel like with the help of another adult. Now, as Namjoon wipes the tears of his memories away, he’s nostalgic for the times when he felt like part of a team—living under the same roof, raising a family, and building a life together.

“Daddy?”

The little girl’s voice is hesitant and careful. Jaeah is standing at the door, looking on as her father clears his throat to mask how much he’s hurting.

“What is it, honey bee?”

She wraps her small arms around Steve before posing her question. “Are you crying?”

Namjoon stands to his feet and tries to compose himself as best he can. “I was. Sometimes grown-ups need to cry too.”

“Oh,” she responds, looking down at her stuffed dinosaur as she processes the new information. “Why? Are you sad?”

“I miss Mommy,” he answers honestly, as he knows the subject will continue to resurface as she gets older and learns her family isn’t the same as other families. She knows her mother isn’t around anymore and she knows why, but she doesn’t remember her. It doesn’t feel like a loss and Namjoon is grateful for that. But more importantly, he wants her to learn it’s okay to miss people who’ve passed on.

“Are you washed up and ready for dinner?” he prompts, hoping the change in conversation will clear his head and help him focus on the present.

“Can Steve come?” She holds up the stegosaurus like she’s presenting him as an offering. The persistence makes her father chuckle and he finally caves.

“Sure, he can join us.”

As he leaves his bedroom, he places his hand on his daughter’s back to usher her and her stuffed companion into the kitchen. The aroma of the slow-cooked meal renews the sense of comfort in his chest. A thought passes through his mind as he takes his place in front of the pot and grabs the ladle to prepare the first scoop.

_I need to figure out a way to thank ___ for this._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon drops by the library to return books and thank you for all your help.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _Namjoon stands there, digging his tongue into his cheek as he taps his foot, mulling over the discovery. “She gets that from Eunhee. I never lied at her age.”_
> 
> _“She’s pretty sharp for a four-year-old.”_
> 
> _He releases a sigh like it’s his last breath. “What am I gonna do with her? When she’s fully literate and using the internet, it’s over.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader
> 
> Genre: Fluff
> 
> Warnings: SingleFather!Namjoon, parenting woes, memories of the past, overall softness

It only takes half an hour for your hands to become smeared with grimy residue from checking in all of the returned library books. You used to love the smell of the written word, bound in ornate covers, but after cycling through so many on the busiest return day you’ve worked this week, you’re ready to go home and wash your hands. At least at home, you’re equipped with better soap than the industrial-grade pink slime the library keeps stocked.

It’s only been two hours into your shift and your back is already aching from repeated trips and dips into the return bin. Each book is destined to return to its home on the shelves, but the task drags moment by moment. The circulation desk is not your favorite place to work in the library, but it’s the one which must be manned at all times. With the budget cuts to your city’s public services, you expect to be shackled to circulation for the next millennia, reduced to stealing moments away to brainstorm plans for the next children’s reading event.

You’re entranced by vibrantly-colored thumbnails of library display DIYs when you hear the deep lull of a familiar voice.

“Hey, stranger.”

_Namjoon_. Your friend waits at the edge of the circulation desk with a stack of books tucked under his arm and a dimpled grin etched across his face. Jaeah’s nowhere to be found, but it’s mid-morning so you assume she’s in preschool.

“Hey!” you exclaim, rushing to bookmark your online tutorial. “Brought me some books?”

“Yep, another load,” he answers with a bashful chuckle. “Jaeah wanted the one on dinosaur eggs and she said I got the wrong one. I could have sworn she read them all already.”

“Maybe she has,” you muse in a playful tone, opening a new browser. “I can look up your account and let you know, if you want, or you can check it online with our mobile app.”

“How many books on dinosaur eggs do you have?”

You rattle your fingertips against the keys. “In the children’s section or overall?”

“I haven’t dared tell her about the _real_ reference books,” Namjoon stresses, shaking his head at the thought. “Can you imagine what would happen i—what? Why are you laughing?”

You point at the single entry on the screen. “The one you have tucked under your arm is the only children’s book on dinosaur eggs we have. Jaeah’s playing a prank on you.”

Namjoon stands there, digging his tongue into his cheek as he taps his foot, mulling over the discovery. “She gets that from Eunhee. I never lied at her age.”

“She’s pretty sharp for a four-year-old.”

He releases a sigh like it’s his last breath. “What am I gonna do with her? When she’s fully literate and using the internet, it’s over.”

“She’ll be running circles around you.”

“I can’t stop her from growing,” he laments. “I tried.”

“No, you can’t.” You grin ear-to-ear at Namjoon’s distressed expression. “The library staff can help kids learn how to enjoy the web safely, plus we have parental controls. You might be upgrading your account to a research one in the future, though, at the rate she’s tearing through books. It’s a small annual fee.”

“What’s the difference between that one and the free one I have?”

“Interlibrary loan.”

“Nope! No—” Namjoon refuses with raised brows. “I’ve already lived that life once. Eunhee and I were drowning in monographs and research journals the last year of her doctorate. We ran out of shelving. I remember taking books back to the library in the evening only to find out she had borrowed more that morning. She wasn’t even reading them! She was just looking at the bibliographies to see if she needed _those_ books instead.”

“Oh, I remember that when we were roommates. She was awful when she was applying for grants,” you laugh. “The day before she moved in with you, I remember dropping a box of her books on my toe and then it swelled until the toenail fell off. It was disgusting! She was morbidly fascinated and started talking about some long word that started with an ‘H’? She was like a dog with a bone.”

“We were so cheap back then,” he adds. “We should have hired movers for all those books. Why didn’t we do that?”

“No one did at that age. Everyone had cheap furniture and hangovers, so no one cared.”

“Right, we only care now that our joints pop when we get out of bed. We’re not even old yet.”

The conversation fills your chest with joy and your face tightens from smiling over the shared experience. There’s something natural and comforting about the way Namjoon speaks when he’s relaxed and remembering a fond memory, even when it’s about his late wife. You’re pleased he still talks about her from time to time and wonder if he misses reminiscing about the old days as much as you do, now that they’re long gone.

“How have you guys been since getting all settled in?” you ask.

Truthfully, you’re hoping to get feedback on the exam stew you left behind when you helped them unpack, but it’s impolite to pry into a meal you suspect is still special to him.

“Good. We’ve been good,” Namjoon replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Eh, I know this will sound a bit awkward, since we’ve been standing here talking already, but is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he begins, a light rattle of nervousness in his voice. “It’s just—I feel weird standing here taking up the library’s time with my personal shit.”

The corners of your lips perk in amusement and you lean against the circulation desk, lowering your voice like you’re sharing a secret. “ _Personal_ _shit_. Cussing feels good, doesn’t it?”

A forced exhale from your friend signals the slackening of his shoulders. “Yes, it does. I miss talking to other adults.”

His admission makes you pity his lack of interaction with others your age and you wonder if he’s been able to socialize with any friends since he’s been back. You always imagined parenthood would be an opportunity to connect with other adults who have children and are going through the same thing, but after seeing Namjoon raise a child on his own, you consider the alternative—parenthood’s possibility for isolation.

You never met any of Namjoon’s friends from graduate school, but you suspect at least some scattered to the winds after graduation like yours did. Hardly anyone keeps in touch once they start working and building families. The assumption is everyone would eventually find their place, their cog in the machine, and their person to anchor to. He found his person early in your best friend, but now his anchor is lost and he’s tethered to a little girl who came without instructions. Your anchor into adulthood never materialized beyond juggling multiple jobs, paying too much rent on a cramped apartment, and caring for Cucumber, a cat who acts like he doesn’t need you. You don’t know who has it worse: someone who has never found love, or someone who found it and lost it too soon.

Checking your watch, you’re able to offer him an easy solution which will give you both the privacy he wants and the fresh air you’ve been craving since you clocked in.

“I haven’t had my morning break yet. Want to go outside? I think the rain’s cleared up finally.” Your feet are itching to escape, stepping away from the circulation desk before he answers.

“It was clear when I came in,” he confirms, turning on his heel to head toward the door. He reaches it before you and presses his palm against the metal plating, coaxing the door open to allow you to walk through first.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking steady steps to pass him. His freshly showered scent tickles your nose, but it’s a pleasant lavender lure mixed with laundry detergent—subtle enough to detect only within close proximity.

A warm gust of wind blows over your face and you welcome it with a gentle smile and closed eyes. As the heat brushes your cheeks, you wish you could spend more time outside reading, reflecting— _anything_ —but you seldom hope for breaks when you’re covering shifts across multiple libraries throughout the week. The moment of peace passes in stillness and when you open your eyelids and turn to face Namjoon, he’s looking at you intently, laboring under uneven breaths like he’s struggling to find the right words to start.

“So, what’s going on?” you open, grasping for any means to ease him into whatever conversation he’s hoping to have.

“I just wanted to say thank-you-for-helping-us-move,” Namjoon answers so hurriedly he fumbles his words, chopping them to bits. He catches onto this as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, wincing at the attempt and trying to slow down his speech. “You giving up your day to come help Jaeah and I get properly settled meant a lot. I still feel bad I wasn’t there to help you as I sh—"

“Oh, stop,” you interrupt, waving your hand. “It wasn’t bad at all. It was only a few boxes.”

“You don’t know how hard it was to even look at them,” he admits, casting his eyes to the pavement.

You recall the contents of the boxes in the living room and know exactly what he means.

“I understand. I cried unpacking the one with the picture frames. I could see why you hadn’t unpacked them all yet. Your memories were in there. It’s hard to relive the past when someone passes so young. For what it’s worth,” you stress with an earnest press of your hand against his arm, “it was nice seeing pictures of her again. It reminded me of a lot of good times.”

Namjoon straightens his back and nods, accepting your words with a small dimple poking into each cheek. He returns your kindness by clasping his hand over yours, anchoring it to himself a little longer.

“I appreciate you.”

The way he says “appreciate” as opposed to a simple “thanks” summons a flustering warmth that crawls up your neck. Namjoon’s endearing words are often laced with an awkwardness that makes you want to hug him or bake a cake, but this conversation feels more real than the others and you can’t put your finger on the reason why. You only wish for him to be at ease and you’re learning he seldom achieves it on his own, at least since he’s been back in town.

He’s too hard on himself.

“I hope now you guys will be able to take it easy,” you say. “Moving is hard already, but I imagine it’s harder to move back under the circumstances, right?”

“It’s been hard, yeah, but it’s getting better. Or at least I like to think it is. But then I feel like I’ve gone nowhere,” he confesses. “When I got home, the first thing I smelled was the stew and I couldn’t process anything after that. It hit me hard.” Namjoon pauses to swallow down the rasps in his throat. “It’s just a meal, but it was so much more than that for me and I—I’m sorry.”

Your friend smiles back his grief and presses his lips together to keep from crying. The sight pains you too much to leave him hanging in the conversation when he’s bearing his true feelings in the library parking lot.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “I wanted to make it for you. I may have cried a little getting it ready, sure, but I know you miss her and she told me it was your favorite.”

“It was— _is_ ,” he corrects. “Eunhee told you that, huh?” He laughs and you feel relief wash over your back. “Did she tell you I didn’t know how to make it either?”

“Really? She never told you?” The thought that Eunhee would keep the exam stew recipe a secret both baffled and humored you. She took the secret to her grave like a true know-it-all. “I guess she meant to let you starve.”

Namjoon playfully grunts and throws his head back. “I tried to get her to tell me, but she kept kicking me out of the kitchen! Even when she was pregnant with Jaeah, she was so stubborn.”

“It’s a wonder she remembered it at all, as drunk as we were the first time,” you remark with a grin. “I can share the recipe with you. We changed it over the years, but I can tell you how I made the one you had.”

The offer brings a calm countenance over his face. “I’d like that. I’d like to teach it to Jaeah when she’s old enough. I think about these things a lot. There’s so much about her mother I want her to know. Eunhee would’ve wanted to pass that recipe on. Not to me, clearly, but to her. She would have told her.”

Nodding is the only expression you can convey before the prickly stings invade your throat. He’s right. She would have.

You swallow the swelling sentiments down and force as genuine a smile as possible. You feel pathetic for still missing your friend years after her passing, but you can’t help it. The only thing you can help is shaping your face to stay happy, press forward, and continue with your life.

“Is there anything else I can help you guys with?” you offer.

“Would you let me take you to dinner?”

The words thread into your ears and you’re convinced you imagined it. An offer to dinner would never be there. He would never.

_Would he?_

“What?” The question stings as you say it and you immediately regret being so blunt when you see him wince.

“That was awkward, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, shifting his feet. “What I meant to say was, would you like to have dinner with us? With Jaeah and me, as a thank you for all you’ve done for us since we moved back.”

You hold your breath, your lungs filling with saccharine spirits for the offer. It’s merely a kind gesture. Namjoon smiles encouragingly and you wonder if he could already tell your answer.

“The stew was that good, hm?”

He laughs. “I’m serious! And yeah, I may have polished it off the next night when Jaeah went to sleep, but I regret nothing. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I’d love to go out and have a meal with you both,” you reply. “Should Jaeah pick the place as payment for you eating her share of the stew?”

“God, if we do that, she’ll pick pizza.”

“What’s wrong with pizza? I like it well enough.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “She’s in that phase where she says she wants pizza, but then she can’t decide which toppings she wants. I get her the pepperoni, then she picks them off and leaves them in a tower on the edge of her plate. But when I try to order a plain cheese next time, she suddenly wants pepperoni and glares at me, like a plain cheese pizza is an act of betrayal. I can’t win.”

“This only makes me want her to pick pizza more, you know.”

He sighs and rubs the edge of his forehead, then nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make sure she picks a nice place. I promise.”


End file.
